Rage
by Disgrayceful Ways
Summary: It had been the Bat who had finally killed her, not him.  Can be looked at as an alternate sequel to Villain
1. Alleyway

It had been the Bat who finally killed her, not him.

The thought that someone had taken her away from him before he was ready had upset him, the fact that he wasn't the one to kill her had infuriated him, but the fact that it had been that rat bastard, Batman, who had done the deed all out filled him with a rage that he could not comprehend.

Harley was his. His to control, to play around with, to beat, to hate, to spit on, and to scream at. She was his and it was supposed to be up to him when she died, but that's not how it played out. Before him, Harley was limp on the ground, cold. Her eyes were glass, all the life had left them, and her skin was a greyish white, even without her make up on. Red and purple marks were around her neck in such a personal manner that the Joker could help but wonder why the caped crusader had been so angry with Harley.

Hadn't Batman had a thing about killing? Didn't he despise it? Joker's head tried to wrap around the situation. He had watched him kill her, his hands crushing her throat so hard that he could hear the bones cracking beneath the pressure of every criminal's worst nightmare. He had screamed out her name, that much Joker remembered. He had called for her, yelled at the Bat to put her down, what was he doing, and couldn't he see that he was killing her?

Harley was dead before the Joker even managed to get near the dark knight, and deader still when the man dropped her. He had disappeared as soon as he had finished and left the Joker to figure out what to do. The Clown Prince had dropped to his knees, brushing the blonde hair out of her face. "Harls, come on baby doll!" he said as if he were just waking her from a dream. When he had no response from the gorgeous woman, he began to become frantic.

"Harls, you little twit! If you don't get up right this instant, I'll knock your teeth down your throat!" He shook her by the shoulders, but her eyes did not open and he didn't get the, "Yes Mistah Jay! Right away!" that he had hoped for so desperately.

But still, he shook her for what seemed like hours and finally succumbed to what he really felt. He dragged her body onto his lap and tucked his head between her neck and shoulder, screaming his pain out, her hair muffling the noise. Hot, fat tears rolled down his face and onto her skin, washing away little trails of mud and dirt that had made residence upon her.

What would he do? He couldn't remember when he didn't have her, and now he wished that he had never known her. The pain was unbearable and in the back of his mind, the whole situation reminded him of a past emotion that he had long forgotten. The pain seemed to double with the reminder and his hands began to tangle into her clothes, gripping harshly, as if willing her to come back. But she did not.

Eventually the emotions had died down, his tears and pain had stopped, and now all that was left was the anger he felt towards the flying rat who had taken away Harley and the rain that began to pound on them. He stood with Harley in his arms as he began to walk back towards their...no his, he reminded himself, his hideout. He looked down at her silent face and his jaw clenched.

He'd kill the Bat for this.


	2. Washed Away

It hadn't been long after Joker had walked back into the hideout with a limp, pale Harley in his arms that he realized Batman was the perfect murderer, despite all of his whining about never killing anyone; that it was beneath him. That winged rat had left him to dispose of her body, because even the Joker respected Harley enough not to leave her out to rot. If he weren't the victim, he might have found the situation comical.

His quiet steps seemed louder without Harley screeching in his ear about how proud she was of her puddin' for a heist well done. It only took a few for him to reach a water stained, green couch that had been dug out of a dumpster by Harley herself three years prior to, "liven up tha place, cause jeez louise, tha damned place is as dreary as work on a Monday!"

With that memory in mind, he carefully placed her petite body on it, admiring the contrast between her soaked blonde hair against the disgusting vomit green color of the cushions. With a shaky hand, he reached out to brush some strands out from her face gently but stopped mid way, curling his long, bone white fingers into a fist. Anger seemed to surge through him once more as he stared at her.

Her mouth would never pout again, her eyes would never tear up again, her skin would never purple again under his careful touch, her body would never sail through the air with that perfect swan like grace she was notoriously known for. She wouldn't do a lot of things again and the main thing he knew he would miss was her telling him she loved him.

He knew he didn't love her, but he felt at a certain loss about her being gone. He was as close to love as he could ever remember getting and while he had hated it, he had become used to it—even obsessed over it in the privacy of his mind. He had found it so peculiar. Every time he had gone to kill Harley, he had found himself one heart beat away before he paused and rethought his decision. He had long ago figured out why, but he had chosen to never admit it to himself, Harley, or any of the rest of the world, all he would admit was that it was not love but the sick curiosity of his mind.

But none of that mattered now. All that mattered was burying Harley before she began to stink up the place with her decaying flesh, as the deceased were wont to do and to pay the Dark Knight back in full, plus interest. He wasn't sure how he would do it yet, but his mind was starting to let go of ideas and fill up with an inconsolable grief that begged for immediate retribution.

He walked away from the cold corpse quickly, running up the stairs without real thought towards their—his bedroom to gather some of Harley's favorite, obnoxiously hot pink bed sheets. The same sheets she had childishly adorned on their first bed. The set that he had despised at first, but then on one hot summer night had felt the cool cotton against his skin after a rather terrible heist. The set that he had gotten used to at a surprisingly quick rate, just like he had done with Harley. But now they only served to aggravate his tornado of emotions; he found it fitting to get rid of them.

With that he made his journey back downstairs to her, carefully and neatly laying out the sheets on the ground, flat and smooth like Harley's skin. He then picked up her stiffening body to position it in the sheets and carefully wrapped her like a delicate gift for God. She was his accidental sacrifice.

It wasn't long before he was back outside in the cold dark of the alley way of the scene, walking past the dumpsters and trash bags with the pink sack that was Harley cradled gently in his arms.

He walked towards a chain linked fence, where just behind it there was an empty lot of grass and dirt. Joker scanned the area for a grave that he thought might suit his little dead jester best, and spotted it dead in the middle of the field. It was the only spot that had flowers and the only spot that cried out with life.

So he went through a man made hole in the fence, being cautious of the links that tried to grab at the sheets and treaded softly thought the muddied ground and towards the designated resting place. Quietly, Harley's wrapped body was placed softly next to her future and he walked away to grab a shovel. It didn't take him long to return and begin his digging.

The sounds of the shovel hitting the earth beneath him was the most shattering thing he had ever heard in his entire life, aside from the bones of Harley's delicate neck being crushed. Systematically he dug, silent and resilient, willing his mind to go blank. He was like a zombie, unknowing, unthinking, unfeeling. He did not want to know why he was digging, he didn't want to think about who he was burying, and he most certainly didn't want to feel the swirling emotions in his chest.

Soon the hole was deeper than he had intended and prime for swallowing a body. He reached out from the hole he had dug himself into and pulled the pink mass softly into his arms, and then once again gently handled her to the ground. He climbed out without looking back and began to throw the soft dirt and mud back into the grave, doing his best to ignore the sickening splat of dirt meeting body.

The bone white man hunched in relief once the hole was filled and knelt down to pat the flowers back in place, doing his best to keep it from looking sloppy. His straggly green hair fell into his eyes and he brushed it out of his face with his red clay caked fingers, causing it to rub onto his forehead. With that, he held the bridge of his nose with his right hand, whispering softly into the night.

"Harls, ol' gal...I—I didn't mean for you to go this way...I should have been able to save you from the Bat...but, I mean...hahaha, isn't it funny, doll?" At this, Joker gave a strange, gurgled noise that escaped past his crack, ruby lips, "I mean, this whole time...hahaha, we...ha. Thought that I—that I would be the one to kill you! But look, look at us now! Batman, good ol' Bats who could never kill a fly decided to kill you! I guess that makes you worse than a bug in his eyes, huh?" With that, Joker curled into himself, laughing hysterically, tears streaming down his face in such a fanatical fashion that there was no doubt that he was insane.

Slowly he rocked back and forth, easing himself down and wiping his face roughly, still chuckling a little bit at random. Putting his hands on his knees, he sat up, then one leg at a time, he stood. It had begun to rain once again, soaking him completely and with that, the life of Harley was over, washed away and a new life of vengeance was born.


	3. Planned Arrival

**Author's Note:** _Yes, a lot of these chapters are short. I know, but I'll try to work on that. Remember to review and message me with any questions or concerns you may have about the story or just my writing in general. I will be glad to help in any way I can and to answer whatever you have to ask. If you have story requests, that's fine too!_

_Have a good day and enjoy!  
><em>

* * *

><p>It was a new day! A brand new, glorious, whistling a tune type of day and one twisted and sick man was not going to waste a single second of it.<p>

Standing in the middle of Gotham's largest park, on the very tippy top of the most elaborate water fountain any person had ever seen was the most vicious, cruel, horrid looking man Gotham's citizens had ever laid their eyes on—The Joker.

He looked more insane than ever with his gaunt face and greasy green hair shielding his sunken, darkly bagged eyes. He was laughing loudly, a sharp cackling that filled the air, stabbing the people around him with desperate fear. A fear so thick he could taste it on his scarred and misshapen lips.

"Ladies! Gentlemen! Children of all ages! Hear my wonderful tale of the Hypocritical Bat!" Everyone stayed silent, staring and unmoving. Their fight or flight mechanism had not kicked in, and they felt rooted to the ground, as if they had turned into the many statues that littered their esteemed park. The crazed man looked around, satisfied that he had their attention, "As you may have heard, my 'hench wench' Harley Quinn has not been seen with me for about a week or so. A very long time, really, as you all know. HOWEVER! She has not left me on her own will, Batman, that flying rat you all trust and love and care for, killed her! HE killed her!"

There was no response from the crowd, no sign of disgust among the many faces who stared at him in blank fright. But he did hear a man's voice say under his breath, "Finally!" Joker whirled around without so much as a breath and jumped down with a foreboding thump. He walked up to the man, who was rather scrawny and painfully pale. He was shaking, his teeth chattering and his balding head gleaming in the bright sun light while birds unknowingly chirped cheerfully in the background. Otherwise, all was silent.

"What did you say?" came the deadly whisper, grotesquely shaped lips resting softly against the shaking man's ear. The man didn't reply, or more so, couldn't. His teeth were chattering loudly as he tried his best to form words, but unable due to the intense doom he felt creep upon his person. But the Clown Prince knew he wouldn't be able to answer and had decided to grant him mercy in one quick motion. A loud bang was heard and many people in the crowd began to scream as the balding man hugged The Joker for support, sliding down ungracefully and flopping to the ground in a dead heap. Some people on the outskirts of the crowd took off, but men in rubber clown masks began to come out of hiding places, grabbing and tackling. Throats were slit quickly while some were stabbed viciously. It wasn't long before the green grass was painted in a new shade of crimson.

The Prince of Crime was back in position on top of the fountain, laughter echoing through out. Soon the crowd had managed to reform into a tiny, clustered group with children crying into their mother's skirts and women being held in vain by the protective arms of men. Dead bodies littered all around and Joker's clown clad henchmen circled the citizens to form a barricade. They were now hostages.

While Joker's mirth was still apparent and his insanity even more so than usual, he stopped laughing and began to speak, "Now, as you all know, a lot of you are going to die. That's all there is to it, you got it? For every half hour Batman is not here, one of you will die...starting with..." He paused for dramatic effect and if possible, his artificial smile grew wider, "...The children...!" His voice sounded like a hungry wolf's and he licked his lips with anticipation. He soaked in the sudden gasps and cries of horror as women began to hug their children closer to their forms.

Of course, as Joker had suspected, it was only a minute or two before the winged rat came flying in. Joker's grin disappeared and his brows furrowed, anger became obvious on his features as he barely suppressed a growl at Batman's planned arrival. The caped crusader stood, brooding at the bottom of the fountain, not even looking at the Joker but at his own shoes. His fists were curled and Joker imagined that his gloved hands were a straining white color under the rubber, but had black blood coursing through his veins. Black blood pumping ferociously through out his cold body, his dark heart pounding heavily with hate and regret. Though, the Joker thought, if Batman wasn't regretful—he would damn well make sure that was changed by the end of all of this.


	4. Shots

**Author's Note**: _Hey guys, I'm sorry it took so long! I had finals and a million papers to write. Apparently college becomes much more busy when you reach 85% completion. I guess, technically that would be senior year...but, whatever. Anyways, here is an update and as always, please review or message me with ideas or feedback._

**Enjoy! **

* * *

><p>"Joker, what do you want?" came the usual gruff voice of the Dark Knight, only then did he decide to look at the pasty, blindingly white man balancing above him. "HA! Now you want to talk, Bats ol' boy, ol' pal?" his lips twisted into a vicious snarl and he jumped down into the water to meet the man who broke his favorite toy.<p>

"You know these people have nothing to do with anything between us. Let them go." Batman said, almost whispering.

"On the contrary, Bats! They have everything to do with us! You see, you have no one to blame but yourself."

"This isn't my doing, this is yours! You're sick, Joker and so was Harley."

"Harley wasn't sick! SHE WAS CURED!" Joker roared, his chest puffing out in a prideful rage.

"Only someone as insane as you would think that." came Batman's calm reply.

"You don't seem to understand, you over grown rodent! She wasn't yours to dispose of! Hell, you didn't even finish the job, you just slaughtered her like some cat in the alley way. What did she even do to you?"

At that, Batman had no reply. He couldn't tell the Joker the truth, not even with Harley dead. However, the Clown Prince was unsatisfied by the black caped fiend's lack of response. He snapped his fingers and Batman's eyes narrowed at him. There was a moment of silence as people tried to figure out why the purple clad man would do such an action; their questions were answered by a sudden gun shot and a woman's loud scream, followed by her desperate wailing out of, "My baby!" over and over again.

The woman crying was a brunette kneeling on the ground with a limp young, ash blonde boy in her arms. Blood flowed like a river out of the gaping wound in the back of his skull. Bits of purplish grey and red coated the woman's dress while she continued to scream and cry into the boy's chest, begging him to wake up. Batman stood in stunned silence, unable to comprehend what Joker had just done.

The crowd around was deadly silent and only the woman's chilling screams were heard as they seemed to pierce the soul of everyone who could hear them. Sirens blasted liberating music as they came closer to the park, but neither the Joker or Batman paid any mind. They only stared at each other. One man was forcing back his laughter; the other man stared on in shock.

"Well, Batman. I have to go. If you follow me, I guarantee that all of these innocent people will be dead. My men will give you the signal of when you can leave, so don't try to leave before that. Alright? I'll see you later, toot-a-loo!" With that, the blindingly white man jumped down and began to nimbly skip away. Batman went to take a step, but all of the Joker's men stepped forward, too, grabbing a child each. Mothers and fathers yelled out, pleading, and Batman stopped.

He was stuck in a pretty tough situation. He had to go after Joker, but he couldn't risk this many citizens at one time. There were always going to be casualties, but a child had already died today. He couldn't do anything about that, now, but his heart was full of regret.

It took everything in the darkly clad man's power not to sink to his knees in despair. He had never thought that he would be in this situation, but then again, he had never suspected he would be so enraged with Harley to kill her, either.

But his and Harley's confrontation, never murder, because he couldn't murder—at least that's what he told himself—was just a terrible misunderstanding. He had thought one thing about Harley and she was contrary to what he had expected, to what he had wanted.

His thoughts were derailed, though, as a man gave a signal to him; the signal that Joker said to wait for. He was off like a shot, ignoring the cries that were still coming from the woman hunched over her son. Cops were swarming along with paramedics as the Clown's henchmen dispersed quickly.

All anyone could see was a black blur and the sudden disappearance of the sleek Bat-mobile.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, the Joker was no longer smiling, but instead snarling like a rabid dog as he paced furiously back and forth in an old, abandoned movie theater. It was an easy enough place for Batman to find him. After all, he had left a trail for him to easily follow. He wanted him to see what he had taken away, who he had really killed.<p>

Joker had a lot of home movies of Harley. He usually made them on a good day, when Harley was too much fun to ignore. He documented the best moments, because he knew one day that she would die and he wanted to still laugh at her antics. He just didn't think it would be so soon or by the hands of the Dark Knight.

Of course, the films, to any sane person, were definitely not loving home movies like a normal couple would make. However, Batman would understand them, he had no choice.

Joker finally stopped his pacing and sunk into an old wooden chair, giving a weary sigh. He was so tired, setting things up without Harley was...difficult. He once was able to do it on a whim, but then he had become used to having the flamboyant help of the ditsy blonde. Well, she wasn't really help, more of a distraction when she pressed her body against him, asking him to rest. Occasionally, though, she would say something insightful or down right stupid that would kick start his ideas.

He leaned forward, head in his hands. He wished she would go away already, out of his mind. He wished he could just forget her, because he couldn't comprehend this tight feeling in his chest. The last time he had felt such a feeling was before he was the Joker, and he could barely remember a time before that. He didn't like the familiar, yet distant reminder of what there once was. He didn't like the fact that Harley had really been the only glue that kept his shattered mind somewhat intact. He felt like all of his thoughts were constantly running wild, more so than usual. He couldn't keep the voices out anymore, he couldn't ignore the snippets of his past that haunted his dreams.

Her face used to be the only thing in his dreams when he met her. Sometimes her face would be bruised and broken, other times her head would be thrown back and her stomach pushed out as she moaned like a wanton whore. He liked all of his dreams of her equally, at least until she died. Now all he could see when he closed his eyes was Harley closing hers.

Sometimes, if it wasn't Harley gasping for breath as Batman's hands crushed the life out of her, it was some other woman whose life was being forced from her by a man as darkly dressed as the rat. He rubbed his eyes, pushing back something he didn't understand. He waited, quietly, almost forgetting why he was waiting, but then he heard Harley's voice, whispering into his mind, "_Mistaaahh Jaayyy._"


	5. Cinema

**Author's Note:** _So, I whipped this up for you guys today. I figured I left you guys hanging for a long time, I might as well publish this chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it. Remember to review!_

* * *

><p>The violence of Joker's actions had surprised him, though he wasn't very certain why. It seemed like typical murderous behavior for the bastard, but the Joker had a simmering rage beneath the skin that Batman could see wasn't as controlled.<p>

Joker had always been in control of the situation, despite how much the Dark Knight was loathed to admit it. He calculated every single step of the way, right down to whether or not he wanted to go back to Arkham. Batman had not counted on Harley mattering to the Joker, but he supposed that his mistake resided in the fact that he was too blinded by righteous anger to think clearly.

Now he was sitting in his car, following the gruesome, bloodied Clown posters that he hadn't noticed until he started to search for Joker. He knew that the Clown Prince was giving him a trail, leading him to a trap, but he couldn't think of any other way to go about it. If he were to decline the Joker's invitation to a secluded meeting, then the Joker would make an invitation for a public meeting and it would be one that Batman would not be able to ignore—unless he wanted Gotham to pay for his crimes (though, he mused, they already were).

The decisions that he had to make were beginning to weigh on him. He didn't know how much he could handle. He was already consumed with guilt for killing Harley. He thought it wouldn't bother him, but as the days wore on, he began to realize his mistake. He had not wanted to kill her, but as his rage built up about her actions, he couldn't seem to stop himself from leaving his cave and finding her in the deserted alleyways of Gotham's grimiest corners and cracks.

When her neck had given way under his rough hands, a piece of his mind and heart broke. He had gone against all his promises to himself and his parents. He had watched her blue eyes fade, but they never let go of her calm fear. She had acceptance, but she didn't have to like it. He realized, with a start, she knew that what she had done would warrant his wrath—and that it would transform into her end. She had known he would come, she just hadn't known when.

He could remember the way the ghost in the alleyway had called out to him, screaming at him to stop, but he had ignored the green-haired ghoul in favor of dropping the limp and nearly weightless body onto the ground. He could hear the rapid foot falls of Joker running towards them, but he wasn't going to stay for conversation. He had barely looked back as he disappeared into the cold night.

She haunted his dreams, whispering explanations and laughing at his guilt. "Well, Bats! What didja expect? You'ra sucha goody two shoes! Ya couldn'tuv thought ya'd be okay…" Sometimes she'd appear just as she looked the night she arrived at his mansion, as Harleen Quinzel and he'd just be Bruce Wayne. She'd press her red lips against the shell of his ear, whispering all his sins and singing haunting lullabies, trying to tell him something that he couldn't quite grasp. She'd then give a tiny laugh, soft and tinkling, so unlike Harley. Then she'd disappear and he'd feel both relief and longing.

He shook his head, trying to get rid of the memories of his nightmares. Coming back to the present, he jammed his finger into a call button, a direct line to Alfred.

_Ring. Ring. Ring._

"Hello?" came the refined voice of the old butler out into the small space of the car. His voice seemed to calm Batman.

"Alfred, I need you to activate my tracker and call the authorities to find me. Anonymously."

"Anonymously? That goes without saying, sir. Will that be all?"

"Yes, Alfred…that will be all."

"Very well, sir. Good day."

With that, the line went dead and Batman was near the end of the clown posters. There was one single poster on the door of an old cinema he pulled up in front of that read, "Come one, come all!" There was a grim smiley face painted in, what looked like, blood. Deciding to make this a bit more inconspicuous affair, he parked his vehicle in the back, behind a few dumpsters that hadn't been used in years other than by a few rats and cats. He jumped out swiftly and walked cautiously towards the building, looking for a back way in.

His mission wasn't hard to accomplish as he had found a door with chipped paint and rust that was propped open, waiting for him. He knew that if he walked straight in, the Joker would have something ready, but again, he didn't exactly have a choice. With that, the darkly clad man walked into the building.

At first, he saw the lights within the building on and found that he was in one of the theaters. Rows of old, moldy chairs lined up in front of a blank screen. The walls were spray painted with various gang signs and peeled paint seemed to pile up on the edges of the wall. The place smelled old, musty—like a sewer that had over flowed and dried out. Batman tried not to gag.

He didn't really have to wait too long to find Joker, as the man's cackling laughter alerted him of his presence. He swiftly turned around, his eyes scoping the room. He couldn't find him.

Then, everything went black.

* * *

><p><strong>REVIEW! Please and thank you!<strong>


	6. Show Time!

**Author's Note:** _Another update! I know the story seems slow progressing, but you know...sometimes that's just how it goes. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy today's update!_

* * *

><p>It hadn't taken long for Joker to tie Batman up, despite the bulky weight of his muscles and suit. It also hadn't taken Joker long to relieve the rat bastard of his gizmos and gadgets, which was a precarious endeavor indeed. Things seem to pop in his face without warrant—defense mechanisms within the weapons, he supposed.<p>

"Clever little rodent, aren't you Bats?" Joker sneered towards the dark man's still figure. The caped crusader gave him no reply, not that the clown wanted one.

He was sick and tired of the tragic figure. He never smiled and it seemed as if he was set out to destroy Joker's own grim smile. It was a great quest, but...didn't he understand? Joker's smile was _permanent_, because scars could never be erased. Not these scars anyway.

It was about at that point Joker noticed a peculiar flashing coming from Batman's utility belt. He wasn't stupid, he knew immediately what it was and couldn't help but let out a low chuckle that would send the most fearless of men scurrying in fright. _Well, if someone is going to come looking for him, I'll make sure they get a nice view of him..._

Soon the Clown Prince was pulling clothes off the unconscious man, only leaving his mask on. He giggled at his own childish brilliance. Commissioner Gordon was just going to love this! Joker wasn't very much interested in humiliating Batman like this, but since he had the chance, he was going to take it. He had much bigger ideas—ideas that would destroy Batman's life inside out, ideas that would make Batman finally take that final step everyone was waiting for; suicide.

This prank was just a nice icing on the cake that he was baking.

After making sure Batman was secured in his seat and that all his clothes and weapons were pretty much rendered useless, the pasty man began to skip towards the upstairs projector room so that he could start the reel of Harley's life with him. He made sure to put it on loop and even made a video tape copy to leave in Batman's lap, just in case he decided to enjoy it at his own pace.

Once his task was completed, he left without even a giggle. He did what he needed and it was time to go home and initiate the next part of his plan.

"Just sit back, ol' boy...Enjoy the ride..."

* * *

><p>Cool air woke Batman from his forced slumber, though he didn't register it due to the thumping of his head. It took him a few minutes to shake off the nauseating feeling churning in his stomach and to ignore the pounding of his new migraine—and a few seconds after to realize he was naked. Thankfully no one was around to see him blush, not that they could have with his mask on (which he was relieved to still have).<p>

No one was around, not even the Joker, but images flitted across the silver screen ahead of him. The images were grainy, but the beauty was unmistakeable...Harley Quinn was smiling and silently laughing, something she always seemed to do (dead or alive). There was no sound, creating a haunting experience for the home movie collection.

The scenes before him were breath taking. Harley danced on screen, obviously teasing whoever was filming her. Hips swayed back and forth in a slow tempo, bright eyes, batting lashes, and lips moving, saying, "Come here, Puddin'." He pretended she was saying his name, though, which was easy enough with the surrounding silence. He recognized the dress she was wearing, because she had worn it when she had visited his mansion a few months ago. The black, skin tight, please-fuck-me dress, the one that he had slid his hands under without thinking of consequence.

Suddenly there was static on the screen and a new scene came into focus before he could even memorize Harley's provocative dancing. There was some adjustment of the lens, bringing the bubbly blonde into stark clarity. She was dressed her infamous jester outfit, though it had a few tears and burns in the fabric. Her hair was messy and she was pulling off her cowl, giving an annoyed look at the camera, though she still gave her famous smile. She looked worn, as if she had been through hell and back.

"Watcha doin' Mistah Jay?" her lips mouthed, but Batman pretended she wasn't talking at all. The silent movie didn't allow him to know Joker's reply, but the camera was sat down on some sort of table or dresser (a bedroom dresser, if the bed in the background was any indication of what room the two were in). Soon, Joker's ruby lips were on Harley's own and they were kissing with abandon. Her fingers clutched desperately onto his shoulders, and Batman knew what was going to happen next—he turned his face away...Though it didn't stop his peripheral vision from catching awkward corners of their entangled limbs. He could imagine her breathy moans and Joker's ghastly grunts, though he sure as hell didn't want to.

He didn't have to watch for too long, though, as a SWAT team and Commissioner Gordon busted into the room in a frenzied rush. He suddenly remembered his nudity and decided that it was best to act with as much dignity as possible, though it seemed some of the members of SWAT were having issues with doing the same. Gordon came to his rescue though, standing in front of him and shooing off the members to search for Joker, even though he already knew he wasn't within the vicinity anymore. He began to untie the unfortunate vigilante, deciding to leave the tape in place as it provided some sort of coverage for Batman's parts.

"I see he got the best of you." Gordon's gruff voice stated, Batman could only sigh and nod.

"It wouldn't be the first time." Batman finally replied, his eyes switching between looking at Gordon and looking at the screen behind him. Curious as to what was distracting the Dark Knight so much, the older man turned around. His face became grim as the scene on the screen was no longer sex, but Harley's broken form laying on a dirty bathroom floor while Joker's dress shoe met her ribs over and over. "He's a sick son-of-a-bitch, that's for damn sure..."

Batman couldn't have agreed more.

* * *

><p><strong>Please review!<strong>


	7. Market

**_Author's Note_: Hey guys, sorry this chapter is so short. I apologize. As most of you may have already gathered, I am in college and am set to graduate soon so life is pretty hectic.**

**Before we get to the story, I would like to address a review by xskuldx about my story Never Yours. I know it seems odd to answer the question here, but this is an alternative sequel, so it was fitting...kind of...ANYWAYS...**

**Yes, in Villain, Bruce does cum on Harley's thigh because he pulled out, however there still wasn't protection. Women can become pregnant from what is called pre-cum, which is basically cum that more or less leaks out before the man has actually cum. So, to answer your question, yes Harley does have the ability to become pregnant.**

**I hope that cleared up confusion. Enjoy the read, again, I'm sorry it's so short and simple. The chapter I had set up originally decided to magically disappear...But I promised an update, so here is one.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>An older gentleman dressed in fine black clothes stood at an apple stand. In his hand was a basket full of various fruits and vegetables of the finest quality. It seemed he had taken his time in picking each thing, as nothing was overly ripe or old. He was discussing the choices of apples with the owner of the stand, a balding fellow with a tired face. The older man seemed a bit tired himself, so much so that even his mustache looked glum despite how well maintained it was.<p>

This older gentleman, Alfred, had been spending his day at the markets in downtown Gotham, as Mr. Bruce Wayne wasn't one go grocery shopping, 'Probably thinks food just magically appears. Hmph.' Alfred though haughtily as he picked up a red apple to inspect. Turning the apple this way and that, and gently buffing out the imperfections on the skin with his sleeve, he failed to notice the sudden uproar of noise coming from down the street.

He did, however, notice the slight static that suddenly invaded his ear through the piece that he often used to communicate with Mr. Wayne. Simply missing calls was life threatening due to the millionaire's hobby. The old man sighed and pressed the receive button on his watch and Batman's voice broke through, "Alfred."

"Yes, Mr. Wayne?"

"Joker is headed out your way."

At this, Alfred gave a confused look, though Batman couldn't see it.

"I have a tracker on you, Alfred."

'Oh sure, have a tracker on the man who changed your diapers, very classy Mr. Wayne.'

"Go on..."

"I want you to get out of there immediately. I think he's coming after you."

"I highly doubt he even knows who I am."

"Can't you just listen to me?"

"Mr. Wayne, I do believe Mr. Joker has already arrived. I'm afraid I can't exactly run away."

At that point, the Joker had, indeed, made his way up the street and was standing right in front of the stall Alfred was in. The gruesome, clown man seemed uninterested in who Alfred really was and seemed more so set on gathering as many hostages and innocent people to kill. The old man stroked his mustache for a second and then gave another sigh. He was getting to be too old for Mr. Wayne and his friends, and really, he had been working for the Wayne family for his entire life. He was quite tired.

Batman was still shouting on the other end of the receiver for Alfred to get out, but Alfred was unable to answer without drawing attention to himself, so he simply pulled the ear piece out and tossed it away discretely. The last thing that needed to happen was for the Joker to find out who Alfred was talking to.

The Clown Prince was not someone Alfred had seen up close and especially not while he was on such a rampage. The ghostly colored man had grabbed and shot a few innocent people, but Alfred was hardly inclined to care, as they were mostly snazzy, rich men who had lived their life to the fullest. It wasn't until Joker had grabbed a young brunette girl who couldn't have been older than 7 that Alfred stirred. The girl's frightened green eyes connected with his dulled blue-grey and Alfred stepped out of the stand.

"That's quite enough Mr. Joker, sir." Alfred's strong and sure voice had distracted the clown briefly, causing him to turn around, the girl still in his bony grasp. "What was that, old man?" Joker spat, his teeth showering Alfred with a snarl.

"You heard me, you clowned hoodlum. I said that's enough."

Joker's face went blank as he inspected the older man and then a grin burst forth from him, along with deep bellied laughter.

"He-hee-hee, hoooo. Hahahaha. This is the funni—est haha, th-thing I h-have ever enc-counteredd. Hahaha."

Alfred did not look amused, only raising a peppered brow in response to Joker's uproariously annoying laughter. Joker seemed to notice and slowed his laughter and straightened up. The grin, however, did not fade. He turned his head to eye the girl for a second and then flung her away from him like a rag doll. She landed in a stand full of tomatoes, but seemed relatively unharmed as she struggled out of the wooden bin and ran off into hiding.

Alfred inwardly sighed in relief, but realized that he was in much more danger than that girl could ever be.

* * *

><p><strong>CLIFF HANGER! I am so sorry. So, so, so sorry! I know you hate me right now, I hate myself too. I apologize. However, continue to review. Reviews inspire me to update faster. Thanks for sticking it through. MUWAH!<strong>


End file.
